


Birthdays

by Cinaed



Category: CSI: Las Vegas
Genre: Birthday, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-14
Updated: 2006-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of all the holidays of the year, Greg Sanders thinks his birthday is the best. David Hodges, on the other hand, prefers Halloween. This cannot go well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthdays

Greg didn’t mind working on his birthday, not really. Well, he was only working the first few hours of his birthday, anyway, seeing as he worked the night shift, and he’d gotten the actual night of his birthday off, so he figured it was going to be a great night, especially since David had gotten it off as well. 

Needless to say, he was grinning from ear to ear and humming a snatch of “Happy Birthday” when he burst in on his boyfriend in the trace lab. 

David glanced up from the microscope and rolled his eyes. “How many cupcakes have you had?” he demanded, straightening and stepping away from whatever he’d been peering at. “Don’t think I didn’t see that Catherine had made a dozen for you, Birthday Boy.” 

Greg grinned and hopped onto the counter, swinging his legs idly. “I’ve only had….” He began to object, and then frowned, wrinkling his nose. How many cupcakes _had_ he had? There had been the one he’d popped into his mouth and chewed on while thanking Catherine for the treat, and then one he’d taunted Sara with (he bet she was still mad at her lack of chocolate icing goodness), and then the one he’d almost choked on when Grissom had walked into the break room and wished him a happy birthday. “Um, three.” 

“Three means you’ve got a nice little sugar rush going,” David said, but Greg detected a note of amusement in the other man’s voice. “How about you wait for an hour or two to eat another one?” 

He grinned. “Hey, I’m saving some for you.” 

David rolled his eyes. “Only because you know I hate cake and cupcakes and therefore you’ll get to eat all of them anyway.” Damn. David really did know him too well. When he didn’t say anything, the older man raised an eyebrow. “Now, do you have evidence for me to run trace on, or did you want me to wish you happy birthday?” 

“Er….” Greg looked down at his suspiciously empty hands. “The second one?” 

The trace technician shook his head. “Happy birthday, Greg. Now, let me do my work, or your birthday will be ruined by Neil killing me for leaving him too much backlog.” 

Greg heaved a melodramatic sigh at that, and twisted his face into an elaborate pout, crossing his arms and directing the frown at his boyfriend. “You are _such_ a crappy boyfriend, Hodges. I don’t know why I put up with you.” The leer that lit up David’s face caught him by surprise, and he felt his face turn a bit red, hastily adding, “Well, there is_that_,” before David could make a perverted remark. 

Then he beat a hasty retreat out of the lab. While Grissom had wished him happy birthday, Greg still didn’t think that the man would approve of Greg jumping David in the middle of the crime lab, and jumping was inevitable when David got into a leering type of mood. 

He wandered down the hallway. It was a slow night for Vegas, with only a jumper and a clear-cut case of domestic abuse that had taken a fatal turn, and David really wasn’t going to be leaving much backlog, for all his claims of Neil plotting his death. 

“Hey, G!” Nick draped a casual arm around the younger CSI, and before Greg knew it, the Texan had dragged him into the break room, where everyone (and it really seemed like_everyone_) was waiting for him. “Time for your party,” Nick announced with a grin, finally releasing Greg, and the young man beamed. 

“Excellent.” Greg grinned at the group, who were all wearing the required ridiculous hats and sitting under a banner that read, **Happy Birthday, Greggo!** He tried not to stare too obviously at the presents (to be polite, he’d wait to ogle them until after he’d blown out the candles), and beamed. “I take it this party comes with a cake?” 

“Of course,” Jacqui and Catherine chorused, and the two women exchanged a conspiratorial grin. Greg really didn’t get it. The two women rarely spoke to each other unless it was work-related, but every birthday they got together and hunted down the best cake for the party. 

They’d really outdone themselves this year, and Greg gawked at the ice cream cake that was styled to look like the cover of Radiohead’s OK Computer album. For two full minutes (Archie timed him), he was absolutely speechless. “Wow,” he finally managed. “That’s…did someone take a picture of it? I’m not touching it unless I’ve got a picture of it to remember this.” He looked up, wanting to see David’s expression at the sight of the expertly done cake, and frowned a little when he realized the other man wasn’t in the throng. 

Meanwhile, Bobby laughed. “I think Jacqui and Catherine have a roll of film each.” The Georgian nudged Greg with an elbow, eyes dancing. “You can probably even get one of ‘em to do a blow-up of it for you.” 

“Cool,” Greg said, and continued to look for David in the crowd. There was Sara, and Warrick, and David Phillips, and even Doc Robbins had come to see him blow out the candles. So where was his boyfriend? He tried for a casual tone (only the lab rats and Nick knew about their relationship, and Greg planned on keeping it that way). “Uh, isn’t Hodges coming?” 

Sara made a face. “I invited him earlier, and he practically chased me of the lab. Something about how he’d die from the sight of so much sugar.” 

“Oh.” He plastered a smile on his face and outwardly shrugged it off. He should have known that David wouldn’t want to come, he’d just thought…but of course, David was David. He ignored the unhappiness that clenched his gut, and rubbed his hands together, forcing his smile into an all-out Greg Sanders grin. “So, plenty of photos of this amazing cake means I can blow out the candles and eat it?” 

“Yes,” came the empathic response, and Greg’s grin became less forced as the group burst into a ragged, off-key serenade of “Happy Birthday.” 

 

*

 

“Want to come over Saturday and play Blitz?” 

  
Greg nodded at Nick’s question, and grinned. “Just be prepared for me to kick your butt.” He glanced at all the presents and couldn’t keep from gleefully doing a mental jig. He’d have to make two trips to David’s car to get all of his presents out of the break room, and damn had he gotten some awesome presents -- Blitz: The League from Warrick for his five-month-old Xbox, the latest Coldplay CD from Archie, a gift certificate to Spencer’s from Jacqui (with a few suggestions as to what Greg could buy which had had the man hastily tucking the note away before anyone else could read it). The list was long and the presents were impressive. 

There hadn’t been a present from a certain trace technician in the pile though. He glanced around; now that it was only Nick and himself in the break room, it was safe to frown a little. Nick had been surprisingly accepting of the relationship (well, accepting of the fact that Greg swung both ways -- he’d been totally flummoxed when Greg had confided in him of his crush on Hodges of all people, and had almost had a heart attack when Greg had pounced him in the hallway one day and gleefully informed him that David had finally gotten the balls to ask him out on a date), and so he finally voiced his thoughts. “I can’t believe David didn’t show up. I thought he’d come straggling in about halfway through the party.” 

Nick shrugged. “He never shows up to birthday parties. Not even his own. Every year Jacqui and Bobby have to go on a full-fledged manhunt to find him. You know that.” 

“I know, but it’s _my_ birthday,” Greg said, well aware that he was whining, but this was his first birthday since he and David had gotten together, and he had assumed that would change how David felt about going to parties. Frowning, he began to pick apart his fifth cupcake, and it was more crumbs than cupcake in a few seconds. “Well, I guess he didn’t want to give me my birthday present in front of everyone.” Or something like that.

“Right,” Nick said, and shot him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure that’s it.” He grinned, suddenly mischievous. “Bet you he got you something sappy, and didn’t want anyone to see.” 

Greg couldn’t help but laugh at that. “David, romantic? Our first date was eating Chinese takeout and playing Atmosfear until three in the morning. He’s not exactly a romantic sort of guy.” 

Nick shrugged and together they walked out of the break room and headed towards the trace lab as the Texan remarked, “Hey, be grateful you even _get_ takeout and board games. I’m stuck in a rut here.” 

“Aw, poor Nicky. You…” He paused, and tilted his head. “When _was_ your last date, anyway? With that hooker? That’s not a rut, that’s a crater!” Greg smirked a little at Nick’s glare. “Hey, man, I can hook you up if you want. I know a few girls who’d turn to mush at your Southern charm.” 

Nick rolled his eyes. “I’d have _Grissom_ set me up on a blind date before I’d agree to one you’d arranged, G.” 

Greg clutched at his chest and put on a hurt look. “That wounds me, Nicky! I’ll have you know that Jacqui went on two dates with the last guy I set her up with.” 

The older CSI raised an eyebrow and looked amused. “Wasn’t that the guy she nearly castrated because it turned out he was married?” 

“…Touché.” Greg grimaced a little at the memory. He’d almost gotten the Lorene Bobbit treatment for that mistake. “But really, I know a few girls--” He pushed open the door to the trace lab and blinked. “Neil? What are you doing here?” 

The dayshift trace technician looked up and shot him an aggrieved look. “Got called half an hour ago to come in early and take the rest of Hodges’ shift. Something about not feeling well.” He shrugged, and yawned. “At least it’s a slow night.” 

Wait, David wasn’t even _here_? What the hell? Greg frowned, and scrambled for something to say that would explain him wandering into the trace lab. “Uh, yeah, it is, isn’t it. Um, if you need some sugar, there’s still some birthday cake in the break room. I was gonna offer Hodges some, but since he’s not here, you can have his piece.”

Neil brightened. “Hey, thanks. Oh, and happy birthday.” 

“Yeah, you missed a great party,” Greg said vaguely, and practically hauled Nick back out into the hallway. The disconsolate knot in his stomach had snarled further and he was suddenly regretting that third slice of cake as he seethed, “What the hell? David was my ride home. Some birthday present.” 

Nick offered him a sympathetic look. “I can drive you home, G. And you know, David might actually be sick. He doesn’t have much luck. He _would_ get sick on his boyfriend’s birthday.” 

“He _seemed_ fine,” Greg argued, but David never did let on if he was sick, people only knew he was ill once he started hacking up a lung in front of them. He sighed. He’d call David when he got home, see what was going on. “But yeah, a ride home would be great. Thanks, Nick.” 

“Anytime, man. And happy birthday.” Nick gave him a pat on the shoulder, and Greg watched the Texan walk away before he muttered, “Yeah, happy birthday to me.” 

 

*

 

“You, my friend, are getting spoiled. I mean, that cake was crazy,” Nick informed him, staggering under the weight of Greg’s presents, and Greg laughed.

Shifting the gifts he was carrying and pulling out the key to his apartment, he commented, “I wonder what your cake will look like. Probably like your A &amp; M rug.” 

Nick grinned. “Don’t give them any ideas, G.” 

Greg laughed, picturing the monstrosity that would be Nick’s cake (he’d definitely have to suggest an A &amp; M cake to Jacqui next time he saw her), and then paused as he opened the door and heard noise in what should be a silent apartment. He raised an eyebrow at Nick, who shrugged back, and together they entered quietly. It was an odd time of the day for an intruder, and there hadn’t been any signs of forced entry…. 

Now that they were inside, Greg frowned in confusion as he set down the presents on his couch. Shooting a curious look at Nick, he walked (as stealthily as he could) towards the kitchen, which was where the noise was coming from. Then he paused as a familiar scent filled his senses. His apartment smelled like, well, childhood memories, when Grandma Olaf had baked enough food to feed an army at every morning meal -- she’d made Norwegian pancakes, Hjortebakkels, oatcakes slathered with Gjestot…. Greg’s mouth watered at the mere recollection. But Grandma and Grandpa Olaf were currently visiting old friends in Norway, so it couldn’t possibly be her making his kitchen smell so good. 

As one, Greg and Nick peered into the kitchen. The room was a total mess, and Greg blinked at the sight of his boyfriend, surrounded by what seemed like twenty different food items. David was still wearing his blue lab coat, though he’d rolled up the sleeves, and he was juggling a spatula, a phone, and an English-Norwegian dictionary. 

“Ja, ja,” David said, oblivious to the fact that Nick and Greg were both staring at him, and blew out an exaggerated breath as he set down the spatula and began thumbing through the dictionary. “Uh, kan du si det igjen?” (Greg had to fight back a grin at the uncertain tone David’s voice had taken.) The trace technician paused, and then nodded. “Tusen takk. Ha det bra.” He set the phone down and grabbed the spatula once more, muttering, “Damn Norwegian pancakes.” 

“_Norwegian_ pancakes?” Greg repeated, and watched David jump and whirl to glare accusingly at him. 

David brandished the spatula and grumbled, “Don’t sneak up on me! And the damn pancakes would be ready if some idiot hadn’t had his car stall out in front of me and wasted thirty minutes of time I could’ve been here.” When Nick chuckled, the man’s scowl deepened. (He might have seemed more threatening had there not been a smudge of flour on his cheek.) 

Greg blinked and looked at the ingredients on the counter more closely. There was eggs, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, flour, sugar, cognac, butter, whipping cream, salt, milk, blackberry jelly…all the ingredients to make Hjortebakkels and Norwegian pancakes. His mouth watered, and he felt himself burst into a grin that made his cheeks ache. “You’re making pancakes and Hjortebakkels? _Hjortebakkels_?”

“What the hell are Hjortebakkels?” Nick muttered, and from the corner of his eye Greg saw the Texan’s look of bewilderment. 

“Damn-hard-to-make Norwegian doughnuts, that’s what Hjortebakkels are,” David grumbled. He waved the spatula for emphasis, and continued, frowning at Greg, “Had to get the recipe from your grandmother, who kept laughing hysterically at my attempt at Norwegian, by the way, and--” 

“Shut up,” Greg said, unable to stop smiling even as he launched himself at the other man, flinging his arms around David’s neck and grinning at him. “You’re _such_ an ass. I thought you’d ditched me.” 

David smirked and tapped him on the note with the spatula. “Gratulerer med dagen, Greg. Now, sit your ass down while I finish these pancakes. Your grandmother was very explicit on the fact that they have to be served warm.” 

“Not romantic, my--” Nick cut himself off, and shook his head, an amused grin forming on his face. “See you two later. Happy birthday, G.”

Greg unhooked an arm long enough to wave at Nick as the Texan left, and waited until the door had closed behind his fellow CSI to bump David with his hip and repeat, “I thought you’d _ditched_ me.” 

The smirk on his boyfriend’s face widened. “I’m a crappy boyfriend, remember? Now, sit down, or you’re not getting any pancakes, and I’ll give your Hjortebakkels to Bobby.” 

“Herregud, Jeg elsker deg,” Greg muttered, and then kissed the spot of flour on David’s cheek before he obediently sat down in a chair and watched David advance on the stove with a look of intense concentration. 

A minute later, David turned to glare at him as Greg broke into an purposely tone-deaf rendition of “Happy Birthday.” 

“Whoever created that song deserves to die,” he muttered. “It’s impossible to sing on-key, which means millions of people must suffer through their friends mangling each and every note. It’s pure torture.”

Greg just grinned. “That why you skipped the party?” 

“I don’t do birthday parties. You know that.” 

“Of course you don’t,” Greg said, far too sweetly, and David shot him a suspicious look. Of course, David all too often had a psychic thing going on, so he could probably read Greg’s thoughts on what kind of crazy cake he could get Catherine and Jacqui to buy for David’s next birthday. 

He grinned. David’s birthday was coming up in a few months. Greg rather thought Catherine and Jacqui could find a Dukes of Hazard cake. 

He couldn’t wait to see David’s expression. 

**Norwegian Phrases**

_Ja_ – Yes.   
_Kan du si det igjen?_ – Can you say it again?  
_Tusen takk_ – A thousand thanks/thank you very much.   
_Ha det bra_ – (formal) Goodbye.   
_Gratulerer med dagen_ – Happy Birthday.   
_Herregud, Jeg elsker deg_ – God, I love you.

 


End file.
